


Dealing

by tastewithouttalent



Category: Ookiku Furikabutte | Big Windup!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Blood and Gore, Developing Relationship, Exhaustion, Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, Near Death Experiences, Shooting Guns, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-19
Updated: 2015-01-30
Packaged: 2018-03-07 08:52:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3168878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Mihashi isn’t the partner Abe would have chosen for the apocalypse." Reality does not match Abe's expectations for a zombie apocalypse, but he has always been adaptable.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Facade

“20 degrees to the right.”

There’s a shift of movement, so smooth Abe barely registers it in his periphery. A deep breath, held for a moment; then the crack of the gun firing, so loud it rings in Abe’s ears even with the minimal cover of his palms pressed to them. There’s no time to wait for the echoes to fade; he’s letting his hand fall instead, pointing off on the horizon like the other boy is watching his gestures at all.

“Quarter turn, towards the east. A pair, one right behind the other.” Abe brings his arm up, this time, presses the dirty sleeve of his jacket over his ear. It seems to work a little better to stifle the sound of the double shot, the two coming so quick he almost can’t believe Mihashi really took the time to aim.

He does believe it, of course. They wouldn’t work as a team if he didn’t.

“Last one,” he declares, pivots his shoulders so he can pick out the movement far on the horizon. “6 degrees west of due north. There’s a tree in the way but he should come out from behind it in a second.”

Mihashi turns as ordered, takes a breath, lets it out. It’s odd how calm he gets like this; Abe expected him to crumble the first time, still always has a moment of swooping vertigo-panic whenever a new rush of zombies comes. But when he’s got the scope pressed to his eye Mihashi is perfectly steady, his breathing even and smooth so as to keep the sight of the rifle itself steady.

Abe’s distraction costs him the cover for his ears. The last shot reverberates off the trees, rings through his head so he hisses at the pain, is still grimacing when Mihashi’s shoulders tense and he looks up for confirmation.

“A-abe-kun!” When he stands all the grace of his angle on the ground vanishes, his feet catching on each other until he’s in some danger of falling and his voice too loud from the earplugs he still has in.

“I’m fine,” Abe insists, reaches out to pull one of the foam cylinders free so Mihashi can actually hear him normally. “I’m fine, I just didn’t cover my ears in time.”

Mihashi’s eyes go wide, and Abe can see the words at his lips even before he shifts his white-knuckle grip on the gun to slide the other earplug free. “Y-you should--”

“ _You_  should,” Abe cuts him off, drops the other soft foam into Mihashi’s open palm and shoves the other’s fingers to close back over the pair. “You’re the one who’s shooting, you’re a lot closer than I am.”

Mihashi fold without further resistance, hunching his shoulders in on himself and wrapping his fingers tight on the earplugs. Abe resists the urge to sigh, if only barely, doesn’t do more than roll his eyes when the other boy takes a half-step back to sit on the ground and press his knees to his chest.

This isn’t the partner he’d have chosen for the apocalypse. There are any number of better alternatives he’s thought of, over and over through the nights he spends in solitary watchfulness. Someone stronger, maybe, a fighter or a forager or just someone who has anything like a backbone, who can stand up to a shout or an argument without falling to pieces. But Mihashi is what he has, in a sea of endless enemies, and Abe is what Mihashi has, and he is determined to keep them alive long enough to meet some of the other partners they might have had.

That means exerting himself towards a gentleness that he has to strain for, shutting his eyes and running a hand through his hair so he can pull a facade of patience over his voice. “I’m fine,” he says, and it sounds gruff in his throat but he can hear the little gulping inhale from the other boy that says Mihashi is staring at him like Abe can somehow piece back together the ruins of their world. When Abe glances back Mihashi’s eyes are wide, drinking in the sunlight until they appear to be giving off light of their own. The observation pulls Abe’s gaze down to note the thin lines of the other’s face and the ever-darkening shadows under his eyes, and he frowns before he can call back the expression. Mihashi starts to cringe back from the grimace and Abe speaks, quickly before he loses the other’s attention again.

“You should get some rest.” He straightens his shoulders, turns to look out at the field in front of them, now still and unmoving as it should be. “I’ll keep watch and wake you when the next wave comes.”

There’s a tiny inhale, the sound of fragile resistance forming, and Abe speaks before Mihashi has a chance to. “I’ll be fine,” he says, the word sliding off his tongue with over-familiarity. “You need to get as much rest as you can.” He doesn’t say that he can’t sleep with Mihashi watching for him, that he jerks awake startled and terrified from nightmares of the other screaming for help Abe’s too late to offer. Abe knows he can’t go on like this, stealing half-hour naps when he’s too drained for his brain to materialize even nightmares, but he doesn’t see a better solution yet, and for now they don’t both need to be exhausted.

“I’ll keep watch,” he says, pushing to his feet so he looks steady, as long as his expression is hidden. From the back, where Mihashi is sitting, Abe is certain he looks calm and strong and reliable, and that’s the only perspective he has to worry about right now. “I’ll keep you safe, Mihashi,” and saying it out loud helps, makes it feel real, like an unbreakable promise. “Rest.”

It has the taste of a command, grants his shoulders the strength he’s desperately striving for, and behind him he can hear Mihashi let out a breath of submission and relief in equal parts.

Abe can understand that, the comfort of giving someone else control. If that’s what it takes to give the other boy the reassurance to rest, he’ll keep up the pretense as long as he can.


	2. Crisis

Abe doesn’t have any warning when his exhaustion catches up with him.

He knows he’s tired. He can feel the haze over his thoughts, a constant blur he can’t shake through raw willpower like he tried to originally. He’s lost count of the days since reality fell to pieces, he can’t remember what it’s like to let the constant knot of panic in his shoulders relax. He can see Mihashi worrying about him, can see the wide-eyed concern in the other’s sideways glances, but after Abe snapped at him for the third time the other hasn’t tried to say anything about it.

The waves of attacks come at irregular intervals, sometimes half a day and sometimes half an hour. Usually Abe can count on a few hours of downtime in between, time for Mihashi to rest while Abe considers their ever-decreasing supply of ammunition and food and considers alternatives when they run out with all the cold rationality he can muster. It would help if they had a base, some sort of defensible location to work from, but they are thoroughly lost and Abe has too much interest in survival to risk approaching what remains of the cities. In the end he resigns himself to holding out as long as they can, the same conclusion he always comes to, and lets himself haze into daydreams while his tired eyes drift across the red-gold of Mihashi’s hair in the sunlight.

They have been fine so far, and they continue to be so, right up until the point when they aren’t.

It’s the worst rush Abe has yet seen. Mihashi has been firing for what feels like hours, Abe’s ears ringing until the sound of silence is as much a dream as that of peace. He keeps glancing at the other’s shoulders, considering the tension along the curve of the other boy’s too-visible spine and praying desperately that his limited endurance holds out until there is a break. Abe expected him to cave ages ago, either voice a protest or just slump into defeat over the weight of the gun in his hands, but he keeps firing with tight-lipped focus. His arms must be aching, Abe keeps expecting his shots to go wild, but they keep pinging exactly where the other directs them, clean and straight as they were when the first zombie came into view.

“Left,” Abe says, blinking furiously to clear the sleep from his eyes. “Thirty degrees -- due west.” Mihashi pivots, smooth and unhurried, and Abe is looking away, ready to dismiss that particular attacker as removed in advance of the actual shot, when there’s motion in his periphery, sudden and too close, how did he not  _see_  that, and he’s turning and shouting “ _Mihashi!_ ” before he can think of the effect on the other’s aim.

Everything happens very slowly, then, dragging through time while Abe’s perception notes, and catalogs, and sees the result while his body is too slow to change any of it. Mihashi’s head jerks up, his attention shattered by the other boy’s yell and his aim veering wildly as his hands jerk the gun out of alignment. Abe’s twisting and falling at once, his ankle catching under him and giving out under the awkward pressure of his weight, and there’s the zombie he didn’t see coming at them, the movement his exhausted calculation has erroneously disregarded. It’s too close now for the gun to be of any use, and Abe’s hands are empty of even a makeshift weapon but at least he’s between Mihashi and this one attacker, if not the others.

 _We’re doomed_ , he thinks, very distantly, twisting as he falls so he takes most of the weight on his hip instead of crushing Mihashi, and he’s shouting through the pain of landing, screaming “Run,  _run_ , Mihashi!” even though the other is shaking and wide-eyed with frozen horror as Abe gets his head up to look at him.

“Abe-kun--” and they don’t have time for this, Abe’s grabbing Mihashi’s elbow and shoving him sideways, he can feel the back of his neck prickling with the anticipation of an attack and Mihashi has to get  _up_ , he has to run while there’s still time, even if it only buys him a few minutes of survival.

“STAY DOWN!”

The shout is clear, loud and ringing and so commanding that Abe responds before he can react to the fact that he doesn’t recognize the speaker. He tips forward, drops flat to the ground and drags Mihashi with him. There’s the hiss of bullets a few feet over their heads, the wet crack of blood and bone under the impact, and Abe twists his head to see the closest attacker collapse not ten feet away from them.

The bullets keep coming, two, five, a dozen, none as near as the first and accompanied by the sound of voices, shouts, unmistakably human sounds that Abe can’t make sense of. There’s motion, faster and less eerily regular than the zombie’s slow shuffle, and by the time the bullets have stopped and Abe lifts his head properly there’s a whole cluster of people around them, nearly a dozen boys and girls of varying heights and ages, all well-armed and all looking decently rested.

“You’re lucky we found you,” a voice comes from the fringe of the group, and Abe twists to look. A tall woman is stepping forward, somewhat older than the rest, her hair in two long braids and a gun held in her hands with the air of absolute competence. She drops to a knee without concern for the dirt, offers Abe a hand. “I’m Momoe Maria. Are you two alright?”

Abe isn’t prone to tears. He sticks to rationality, calm calculation and logical deductions. But when he reaches out to take the woman’s offered hand, there’s nothing he can do to stop the flood of relieved sobs that surge up his throat in place of speech.


	3. Rest

“There’s a few dozen of us,” Momoe is explaining as she holds open the heavy weight of a gate for Abe and Mihashi. She’s been talking since Abe got his tears under control and was helped to his feet. His ankle proves unwilling to take his weight when he tests it, and though there are others in Momoe’s group who look better able to support him, no sooner is he upright then Mihashi’s fitting in against his side, catching Abe’s arm over his shoulders without any discussion at all. Abe would take more of his weight himself if he could, if only to save Mihashi the effort, but even he can’t hide the shooting pain that runs up to his knee every time he tries, and without any other choice left to him Abe is finding Mihashi’s shoulders to be stronger than they appear.

He’s been thinking about that for the painfully slow walk back, more distracted by the steady pace of Mihashi’s breathing so close to his ear and the oncoming promise of safety to follow much of Momoe’s explanation. He is listening, at least, hearing the words if not taking in the meaning; he can think about them later, after he’s rested, after they’re safe, when it is no longer Mihashi bearing the brunt of his safety.

The sound of the gate slamming shut is one of the most welcome sounds Abe has ever heard in his life. For a moment his throat goes tight, another surge of emotion catching him through the ever-widening cracks in his defenses, and he has to stop to lift a hand to his face and compose himself. Mihashi stumbles to a stop as soon as Abe does, turns in as much as his role as support will allow him as he stammers, “A-abe-kun?”

“I’m fine,” Abe snaps, somewhat more roughly than he intends, but Mihashi doesn’t flinch as he expects him to, and behind the cover of his hand there’s the moment of blessed silence he needs to collect his facade back around himself.

He’s ready to continue when he drops his hand, but Momoe has stopped talking, is standing in front of them looking from one to the other.

“You don’t look like you’ve slept in weeks,” she says bluntly, and the words could be for them both if her eyes weren’t so sharp on Abe’s face. “Were you trying to keep watch all by yourself?”

Abe can feel the blush sweep out across his cheeks, burn hot into his skin with self-consciousness he hasn’t had the luxury of feeling for what feels like an infinity. Mihashi is looking at him, he can feel the other’s hazel eyes fixed on his features, but he doesn’t look back, doesn’t have the courage to face down whatever expression is on the other’s face.

He’s spared from answering himself by Momoe offering confirmation on his behalf. “You  _were_.” Her hand comes out so quickly Abe would flinch if he had any strength left to do so, but her hold on his shoulder is kind instead of judgmental, steady and reassuring in a way Abe had all but given up on ever feeling again. “Well. I can’t say I don’t understand that. I’ll fill you in on the rest of the details later, after you’re more rested.”

They aren’t given a chance to protest, even if such were possible. Abe thinks he might be on the verge of tears again, the relief of true rest such a lost hope he can hardly take a breath for the burn of gratitude. Momoe is apologizing, he realizes at some impossible distance, promising real rooms eventually once they get more building materials as she gestures towards a handful of unrolled sleeping bags in the corner of the barricaded space, but Abe’s not listening. His body is trying to shut itself down, like proximity to a bed is dragging him down into unconsciousness where he stands, and when Abe slides off Mihashi’s shoulder to land on his knees it’s luck as much as intent that lands him atop one of the rolls. He doesn’t take off his jacket; there’s just the pull of gravity, irresistible and insistent, dragging him forward until he’s fully prone on the impossible softness of the material under him.

He’s asleep immediately, instantly unconscious under the weight of exhaustion. It’s only the sound of Mihashi’s voice that pulls him back, “Abe-kun?” faint but familiar enough to drag him back to some semblance of awareness.

“Mihashi?” He sounds lost, drunk and hazy on the promise of relaxation, and there’s something pressing against him, tugging on his arm until he rolls onto his side and lifts it.

The warmth gets him to open his eyes. There’s heat against him, the comfort of a living body pressed in close, a tiny tremble humming against him like a lullaby. When he tips his head down there are soft curls just against his shoulder, a tentative hand touching his hip, and that’s when Abe realizes Mihashi is fitting in against him, breathing more slowly and calmly than Abe has ever heard him.

“I want.” There’s a pause, a inhale like Mihashi is collecting himself. “Because we c-couldn’t.”

There’s pieces of that missing, major segments of coherency as absent as Abe’s focus. But it’s enough for him to understand, he thinks. Maybe it’s just that he feels the same way, that for once he barely needs the medium of words to link his comprehension to Mihashi’s sentiment. He hasn’t let himself even consider this before, the simple comfort of someone else against him, of Mihashi safe in the curve of his arm as their breathing falls into heavy slowness together.

It’s the first time they’ve ever been able go to sleep together.


End file.
